Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.
The Perfect Flaw
Chapter XIII
Surprisingly, Bulma remained quiet the rest of the way there.
Well, c'mon, what was there to say to a ruthless killer? Really.
However, there was one point in time when she was jerked from her listless gaze, and instinctively her finger lashed out to point at the cause of her sudden shock. Meanwhile, her other hand was ramshackle as it flew to her mouth in disbelief. "Oh, my God," she whispered, her voice trembling with mortified awe. "Goku!"
Meters below her, her friend's body lay seemingly mangled beneath bits of rubble and debris, dreadfully still.
Vegeta hearkened to her cry, looking about the surroundings and using his keen eyes to penetrate the thick fog of dust. He grinned when seeing his dead opponent, as though giving himself a hearty pat on the back. "So you knew Kakkarot, eh, Woman?" he asked slyly while slipping her a sideways glance.
However, it seemed she wasn't listening, for her terrified gaze was still locked upon the corpse. Kakkarot.
Now that was a Saiyan name. It was no wonder he had seemed so familiar to her at their first acquaintance: he was Bardock's son, the one who had supposedly disappeared. As a slave, she heard many, many things; so what other option was there than to just go along and listen to the gossip that seemed travel like an illness through even the lowest of slave ranks?
But that didn't matter. It didn't matter that he was the son of the scientist who was infamous among the slaves on Vegeta. It didn't matter to Bulma that he was a Saiyan— that the same blood that ran through those monsters flowed through his veins as well. All she envisioned when she thought of him was the way his sheepish laughter had echoed richly and genuinely in Chichi's kitchen, and the warm smile that had seemingly been permanent on his lips.
To Bulma— he was human.
In sudden anger, and before she had even meant it, Bulma's head whirled on her captor, her face set in unmistakable rage. "What did you do to Goku!" she bellowed with raw emotion. He merely smiled at the sudden nerve that he had somehow hit.
"You, too, Woman?" he wondered with a sinister smirk. "His name was Kakkarot, not Goku. But then again, I suppose that Earthling name would suit him quite well, seeing as he was nothing more than a weakling."
Bulma was appalled, and it showed visibly in her expression. "For the love of God! He's one of your own kind! How could you just betray him like that! You son of a bitch!"
The last comment had slipped; it was an accident, she swore of it.
And just like that, the Prince's smile had faded. "He may have had Saiyan blood . . ." his lips contracted to expose gritted teeth. " . . . but not a Saiyan heart. He was foolish enough to stand in my way, and paid the price." He paused to shoot another contemptuous glare behind them at the motionless body, before turning back to the girl entrapped in his arms. "And I suggest you watch your mouth around me, slave; I'll let this one slide for now, as a warning, but I won't put up with any crap, you hear me? Do you know what happens to slaves like you whose mouths are a tad too big?"
Bulma's eyes had grown large, and tentatively she shook her head. She found herself unable to break away from that intent gaze; it was so frightening, so manipulative.
"They have their tongues removed."
The scientist stifled a gasp as grotesque images leaked into her mind. She envisioned a colleague staggering down the hall with his hands clamped fiercely to his chest. A fellow friend rushes to aid him, but when the wounded man opens his mouth to speak, instead a macabre moan escapes from him. In panic he tries again to make a plea, this time unable to repress the mingle of blood and saliva that glides like honey from his lower lip.
Bulma nearly gagged, bringing a hand to brush affectionately against her quivering lips.
She must have lost his interest with her thoughtful silence; he now continued to focus ahead into the impenetrable fog.
They were nearing ever so closer, and the closer they got, the more nervous Bulma became. For in reality, she knew that there actually was no Dragon Radar in her bag; it had been nothing more than a ploy; a way to convince him to take her back to her ship to retrieve a capsule which she'd been careless to have forgotten: her motorbike, probably her only chance, though still extremely slim, of making an escape attempt.
For back home, after she'd announced that it would be too risky to take the Radar along, she had made sure she had left it there.
Now she knew the Prince was going to most likely be furious when he discovered it wasn't there, but that's why she had to make it convincing! Imagine if she had just said, "I have something that will find the Dragon Balls, in my ship.", it would have been too suspicious, for even Prince Vegeta knew the quality of slaves' abhorrence for Saiyans; so why the hell would she have just given him the answer on a silver platter? That's right: she had to make a believable bribe.
"Is that it?"
His voice was distant, like an abrupt spasm in her pond of uneasy thoughts. Alarmed she spun her head, her eyes instinctively following the Prince's line of sight and piercing through a weak blotch in the fog. Though there was no need to, Bulma nevertheless squinted, locking upon her undeniable ship.
And Hopefully it hadn't been raided after she'd been kidnapped.
Absentmindedly she heard herself reply, and soon they'd already touched ground and she'd been released from his grip. Almost immediately after he did so, Bulma swung her arms protectively around her shivering form, while her teeth began to shamelessly chatter.
It was freezing!
On pure instinct Bulma's body yearned for the Prince's heat radiating into her once more. And believe it or not, her body came close to doing just that: rushing forward to bask in his warm aura. But with dignity she instead stood in her feeble position, watching as Vegeta stalked forward almost cautiously to her ship.
She waited another moment before practically shuffling up behind him, ignoring the glare he gave her as she brushed past his shoulder.
Vegeta's eyes narrowed dangerously. This girl seemed not at all familiar with the word "respect", and frankly he had a premonition of her death being much sooner than she believed. Perhaps she hadn't realized it, but she had pushed right past him as though she had forgotten he was there! Beyond impudent.
Bulma's form had disappeared within the ship, and Vegeta attempted patience while listening to the rustling of her feet and the sound of her rummaging. As soon as he caught the slightest glimpse of her in the doorway, he lashed out a deft hand and successfully retrieved her duffle bag from her arms.
"Hey!" she cried as the bag was snatched from her. Though she knew there was nothing of further value in it, there was still her diary, and her— erm— personal items. So it was only instinctual as she pounced for the bag, only to be stopped by a gloved hand in her face. With but a gentle shove Vegeta sent her sprawling backward, and watched in cruel amusement as she lifted her head off the dirt to regard him with an indignant glare.
He smirked and wagged a finger in ridicule, like a parent to a child. "Now, now," he said gruffly, "you didn't think I was actually going to trust you, did you?"
She nearly snarled at his distrust. If there's anyone here who shouldn't be trusted, it's you, you monster.
But once again, Bulma was wise to harbor these thoughts within her mind.
And with that, Bulma began gnawing away at her bottom lip; it was all she could do as she dreadfully watched him ferret her belongings, already knowing the result of his search. Please don't be too angry. Please don't be too angry.
The urge was almost overwhelming. what would be the consequence of confessing the truth? Of informing him that it was but a— ruse, a harmless joke? Perhaps a heads up would prevent him from erupting with irrational rage. For it truly was a terrifying thought: him storming toward her, his eyes having lost all rationaleas they burned with hell's fire.
But the point was, she'd gotten what she'd wanted; she gotten the motorbike which had been in the outer pocket of the bag, and had stuffed it stealthily into the inside pocket of her jacket. At least she now knew that even if he did drag her along with him, she'd have at least some chance, no matter how microscopic it was, to, like she said, make an escape.
Bulma's thoughts came to an end; Vegeta had paused, and the scientist winced and turned her head away as she braced herself for his Saiyan roar.
"Well, how 'bout that?"
Puzzled, Bulma reluctantly opened one eye, just enough to see his form as he examined a small object.
"Looks like you're somewhat trustworthy, after all."
When would this horrible luck end?
In his hand, what should have been an empty palm— what should have been clenched in fury at having discovered there was nothing of value in her duffle— held her father's Dragon Radar.
It took a moment before she realized her jaw had dropped and a strange squeak had emitted from within her. Thank God Vegeta didn't notice. Instead he remained where he was; he had already tossed the bag carelessly to the ground and took the Radar by both hands, his digits running curiously and greedily over its sleek, red surface. His eyes seemed to mist as his mind drifted off to fantasize.
His eyes grew even larger when the contraption gave a sudden beep, and coordinates flashed across a grid screen.
Bulma panicked, and feverishly her mind ransacked for a solution to this now potentially fatal situation. However, she found that instead of trying to repair the new born dilemma, her mind was first scrambling for how the hell this could have happened. She had no recollection of putting the Radar in that bag! Although, she had been in a moment of contemptible anger at the time and had been raving ferociously to her parents. Perhaps it was possible she had slipped it in and hadn't noticed.
Or maybe . . . her father had.
The entire time she'd been ridding of her vehemence through incoherent shouts, she had barely taken notice that her father had kept repeating the same thing: "find the Dragon Balls; that'll take care of this mess". Perhaps he had inconspicuously slipped it into her duffle bag, hoping she'd find it while in the ship, and change her mind about turning herself in.
But none of that mattered now; there was no use in dwelling on mistakes made in the past.
It was now completely obvious that she was screwed.
"Well, shall we head out, then?" Vegeta asked with mocked geniality; and once again, the question was purely rhetorical.
His adrenaline was pumping with excitement now; he was so close to them, the Dragon Balls! He couldn't wait until they were in his grasp, and he swore his lack of patience would soon be the death of him someday.
So ecstatic he was that he forgot entirely about the fugitive, who by the way still lay immobilized amid the rubble, her gaze turned pleadingly skyward, and sauntered right past her.
Meekly, without moving her lips, the devastated girl answered: "O-of course." But inside, her mind had come to a different conclusion.
What could she do? What could she do? you ask.
There was only one option:
and that was to steal back the Dragon Radar from the Saiyan Prince.
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"You Pervert!"
"Yeah! Do you ever take your nose outta those magazines!"
Master Roshii didn't answer as he released another sigh of absent longing from behind the article.
Beside Yamucha Krillin stood with crossed arms, releasing an agitated growl. Ever since that new shipment of "Girls gone Feral" magazines had arrived, it seemed as though their trainer had been literally glued to them; he sat alert in his favorite chair all day, his back straight and every so often giving an abrupt giggle while his face reddened with delight.
Throwing up his hands, Yamucha muttered something obscene before spinning on his heel to disappear into the kitchen. "I give up!" he shouted, immediately returning with a hiss from his opened soda. He then collapsed wearily onto the sofa, his head craning back and his eyes drifting closed. He supposed he could at least use this time to rest. All he and Krillin had been doing was trying hopelessly to draw Roshii from his trance, and finally, after three days, he finally realized that it had been completely pointless. "Sometimes I wonder why I ever came here, ya know that?"
Absently Krillin adjusted his gi, a sarcastic quirk to his lips. "Hah! You know without us or Goku, you'd still be that rundown bandit!"
Yamucha should have been angry with this comment: a rundown bandit. Heh, he may have been a bandit, but he'd been anything but rundown. Hell, he seemed to remember a flock of beautiful ladies tailing after him one time, unable to take their shimmering eyes off his attractive ruggedness and bad boy- bandit persona. They cried his name with longing, imploring that he stay with them, explaining their necessity for a man with strength and a thirst for danger.
But instead, the retired bandit merely smiled in nostalgia. "Hmmmm. Yeah, and sometimes I regret giving up that life."
Krillin let his arms hang at his sides, and almost sullenly he stared at the back of Yamucha's head, his brow creasing in bemusement. "I just feel like I should be doing something," he drawled. "Not just standin' around like a lazy bum."
"Well, then, come join me, my boy!" Roshii spoke up over the fan, his face actually visible after having been hidden behind the same magazine for days. "There's an article here on midget babes; just your size, if yer interested!"
Krillin's face sagged.
And just as he opened his mouth to retort . . . the telephone rang.
Ring-------- ring-----------.
Krillin's head snapped to Roshii, who had now continued to indulge in his naughty reading, as though not even hearing the phone.
Ring-------- ring------------.
Hopefully he then turned to Yamucha's seemingly lifeless form. "You gonna get that?" He waited for a response, but was disappointed when he instead heard a monstrous snore from the sofa.
With a groaned "Fine." he slouched as he made his way into the kitchen, his voice listless as it mumbled into the phone. "Hello? Roshii residence."
A jumble of incoherent words rang sharply into his ear, causing him to draw away with a wince. But he was now alert, and with a bit more effort and concern he tried his best to steady the obvious female that was in hysteria on the other line.
After a moment, and incalculable attempts to calm her down, Krillin was able to recognize the woman as being Chichi. Although her words were spoken more clearly, it was still difficult to comprehend as she did so through an outburst of tears and sobs.
Meanwhile, Yamucha had just prevailed to the climax of his dream, in which a ravishing, curvaceous model had beckoned him into her home, when he was shaken vigorously by the shoulder, and nearly jolted upright in abject terror to the sudden intrusion. Even when awake, his head swivelled in disarray around the room, looking frantically for the succulent blond with whom he'd been lip-locked. Slowly, gradually, Krillin's ample voice became clearer in his clouded thoughts.
"What! What is it!" Yamucha snapped finally. "Just to let you know, I was in the middle of a really, really good dream; and you ruined it!"
But sadly Yamucha didn't get the mocking comeback that he expected. Instead, he was met with an extremely pale Krillin, his chest heaving with consternation.
"Goku's in trouble."
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That ki is phenomenal.
Though his brow creased slightly with this thought, Piccolo's face remained enigmatical as he levitated above the deafening waterfall. He'd long ago lost his concentration and had therefore broken his meditation, finding he was unable to ignore the enormous power that pounded in his head.
At first he had believed it to be Goku. However, this was until there had been another interjection, one he recognized all too well as being his enemy's. This was good, yet at the same time bad.
Whoever it was, they had the power to eliminate Goku, once and for all. And if they were so powerful that they could do something of the sort without breaking sweat— well, chances didn't appear too good for Piccolo if he were to have a confrontation with the mysterious beingTrue, he had been training, and felt he had finally surpassed Goku in might; but his new powers against a complete stranger? The outcome was simply unknown, and was not one Piccolo was in a hurry to discover.
Also, whoever or whatever it was, it was moving fast; he wasn't certain of where, exactly, but he could feel it— feel it shifting in his mind. It was too difficult to pinpoint its precise location.
But still, it made him uneasy, knowing that at some point in time he was going to have to confrontthis creature whether he desired so or not— the creature who had already brought down his mortal enemy whom he'd vowed long ago to kill— and he'd done it easily, when it had always been such an excruciating effort for the Namekian.
He could only hope his training will have paid off.
Piccolo blinked suddenly, gave his head a slight shake, and pushed the troubling ruminations to the depths of his mind as he once again hearkened to the rush of the waterfall below him.
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A/N: I had writer's block with this chap, and I still do; hopefully it'll go away soon (it's driving me crazy). And I have ONE MORE WEEK! ONE MORE WEEK until school's over! I'm soooo happy! But anyways, 9 more REVIEWS PLEASE! (which would put me at 74). They're much appreciated and give me motivation.